


Paradise Lost

by espritneo



Category: GoldenEye (1995)
Genre: Angst, Dark Thoughts, Fix-it fic, Happy Ending, James POV, James thinks about violence a lot, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pretty sure they’re pining but in twisted secret agent ways, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 20:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espritneo/pseuds/espritneo
Summary: For no one else but himself, James doesn’t let go. Now they’re on an island in the middle of the ocean and time will tell if they’ll fix things or kill each other without trying.
Relationships: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	Paradise Lost

It's the strawberry girl's fault. That flash of red hair through the chopper catches his attention so completely, he let his hands slip.

He's stunned, dizzy, his face on fire from James’ vicious punch. Normally, it would barely be a love tap, but he’d been wholly distracted by her red hair.

The world tilts and suddenly he's at the mercy of gravity, swinging helplessly in mid-air. His eyes seek out a fixed point for his confused brain and there's James, angry and grimly holding on with both hands.

James' grip on his leg is the only thing keeping him from shattering on the metal hundreds of feet below them.

Their eyes meet. He can see his old friend behind the anger. Alec imagines being saved. 

He forgets he added the distance between them. He did it out of self-preservation, because it had killed him to touch and not have. Every time he saw Bond, 007, it was a painful reminder James chases after England’s approval.

He never even rated a second thought.

Then the moment passes and he’s caught in the terrified resignation that this is the end.

007 is staring down at him.

He doesn’t have a hope in hell. The ground would hurt, if he survives the impact. It’s a given he’d accrue internal bleeding, broken limbs, brain damage. 

He’ll die before spending the rest of his life a prisoner in his own body.

\--

"You won't let go, will you, James? Right? James?"

James thinks of everything that's gone on. He knows what he must do. 

What Alec did, it was unforgivable. He’s cut James wide open, peeled back skin and cracked apart his bones. Every word that comes out of his mouth is a loving slice, patiently dissecting him layer by layer with surgical precision, leaving him ugly and exposed. 

But his arms won't obey him. His fingers have cramped up and it's taking frighteningly conscious effort to relax his grip.

Let go.

Let  _ go _ .  _ Letgoletgoletgo _ .

Alec no longer has any agency. It’s really his choice, it has to be a  _ choice _ , because every atom in his body is rebelling his first impulse.

He can’t do this without facing the consequences.

Can he really live without Alec?

"Goddamn you, Alec." He lets the infrequent swear slip through gritted teeth. It takes inhuman fortitude, but also the easiest task in the world, to haul the limb in his hands up, foot by foot, until it's Alec belt he's holding onto with the last of his strength and Alec's torso is curled around his head, fingers scrabbling for purchase. He can't let go yet, can't find it in himself to be relieved, even when they're securely on the foot-wide platform in a crumpled heap and he can't dissociate his deadened limbs from his friend ( _ nemesis? _ ).

And goddamn Alec for having the nerve to look relieved. James pins him solidly using the same dirty cross handed grab. Alec chokes and instinctively grapples for air, managing to get out, "Parlay. Take me to M and I'll tell you everything."

"Fuck the sodding MI6." James snarls, far out of control. His vision tunnels until it’s just Alec, narrow green eyes and smudged cheeks, and his chest is fit to burst. He wants red, slick blood all over his fingers and over that strong neck, and he recoils from the idea. "You'll answer to me, Trevelyan. You'll tell me everything I want to know."

By now, Natalya has the chopper in reach. James tosses his prisoner ( _ Lover? Partner? _ ) inside and jumps himself. The helicopter flies out of the danger zone as the antennae breaks apart and falls, exploding on impact and shrouding  _ Mischa’s _ satellite facility in smoke and fire.

Natalya tilts her head and pointedly gestures with her eyes and he doesn’t give a flying fuck what she thinks. Not right now, not really ever. She’s fixed in her worldview, despite her ability to think on her feet, and their goals aligned for a little while. He can’t muster any space for her in his mind or heart and the sooner she realizes that, the easier she’ll find it to let him go. 

He doesn’t need another partner. He needs space to think and plan and figure out how to get out of this mess his failure’s gotten him into.

\--

He sends Natalya away with the helicopter. He's not giving himself or Alec the opportunity to escape. A single confrontation will barely scrape the graveyard of grievances between them and this is their last chance. He doesn't care how long it takes. 

They’re back on the CIA’s safe house island. It’s not a permanent solution, but it’s convenient, secure, and private. MI6 will be confused while they decide whether he’s alive or not. The CIA ignores its remote resources when they’re not in use. Wade will help keep it that way because there’s nothing more valuable than having an operative owe you a favor.

A part of him wishes he were on the craft as it shrinks into a tiny dot over the vast blue ocean. He’d have a future to look forward to, at least. A new mission, another vice, a different distraction. He hasn’t stood still his entire life. When his parents died, Aunt Charmaine sent him to public school. When that didn’t work, he was sent to another one instead of stopping to figure out why. And he learned that’s how you cope: you run and you keep running and you get sneaky so you never get caught again. The navy, MI6, that’s been his motto. His mind is always on the next job. 

He’ll stop thinking ahead when he’s ready to die.

He’s not ready to expire now but he’s seriously considering getting piss drunk. The horizon is breathtaking and the breeze is nice and cool on his skin. If he has a drink in his hand, the moment would be perfection. A bottle and today’s problem becomes tomorrow’s trouble.

"Come on, Alec." He shakes off the cobwebs. 

"Why should I?" Alec challenges. He plants his boots in the sand, hands in his pockets, the very picture of insouciance. "Who died and put you in charge? I can walk away, James. I don't see you stopping me."

James rolls his eyes. "There isn't another soul within a hundred miles. We're surrounded by water and we don't have a way off the island. The only thing I'm stopping you from doing is living in the jungle." He turns fully in time to catch the incomprehension. 

He patiently waits for Alec to pick his burning question.

"Why are we here?" 

Good question. He wishes he knew.

"That's for me to know and for you to figure out."

\--

It's too hot to sleep. He tosses and throws the sheet binding his legs. It flutters to the floor at the foot of the bed and it doesn’t leave him feeling satisfied. He’s just spinning his wheels, but he can’t remember what’s on his mind. All he knows is that grumpiness sits high on his chest and he’s getting a headache.

And already he wants another shower.

There's the threat of an incoming storm making the air humid and sticky. The pressure makes it hard for an Englishman to breathe. He guesses Alec is suffering just as much as, if not more than, him.

The former Janus is in the bedroom down the hall where he hasn't made a sound since he retired for the night. Perhaps he's already gone, stolen out into the moonlit night in pursuit of his own agenda. He won't stop him; he wants Alec to decide to stay and he'll give Alec whatever he might need to make that call. 

Still, his gun calls to him from the nightstand and his imagination feeds him a hundred and one ways to restrain a spy. Alec fights dirty and calls for aggressive methods. Nothing that gives him use of his limbs. 

The problem is that road is a dead end. He'd have Alec's body but Alec would make sure his heart was forever locked away out of spite. And then he’ll never get the answers he wants. 

When did Alec start to hate him? 

How much of their friendship was a lie?

Exactly how much of a fool has he been for the past fifteen years?

He’s dying to piece it all together, half out of a masochistic need to shove reality in his own face -  _ trust is blindness and ignorance, there are no exceptions  _ \- and half to feed his compulsion to control everything in his life.

He can't see a way forward other than waiting Alec out. He can give James the cold shoulder now, test the boundaries, enjoy the peace that comes hand in hand with solitude, but Alec won't be satisfied with the status quo forever. Eventually, he'll discover his anger, his impatience, the drive for information that made him unparalleled in covert intelligence. 

He just has to wait.

M is probably tearing a new hole in MI6 looking for him. He tries, but he doesn't have an ounce of loyalty for the Queen of Numbers, not when he's just a line item on her spreadsheet. Or when his loyalty cost him the trust of his best friend. 

Possibly. Optimistically. He drifts into a daydream that’s all the problem was.

They'd discuss it. He'd have a chance to disabuse Alec of his false assumptions. 

It takes hours for him to fall asleep. It’s hot, that’s all; it has nothing to do with the doubts swimming in his head.

\--

The next morning, just as he guessed, Alec’s room is empty. The windows are closed tight, the bed is untouched, and there’s no sign it was ever occupied.

He opens the windows and locks them in place. 

Alec is always welcome, even if he doesn’t want to be.

The house sits high over the trees and he can’t see the ground. The foliage covers the island with the illusion of tranquility, hiding all manner of sins. Down there, animals are killing and dying, it’s the cornerstone of their existence, down to the smallest, violent insect. 

They need to eat, so someone must die. 

Alec better not get eaten, the contrary idiot.

The same goes for you, Alec would probably say. And add some cheesy villainous line. Like, I’m the one that gets to kill you.

James surprises himself with a dry chuckle. He wants Alec to try. The more he lets the thought linger, the more appealing it becomes. Unbidden, the image of Alec’s cocky smile comes to the forefront, bright and vivid, and he clenches his hands, suddenly dying to give chase. He has an endless vault of memories featuring that very expression, remembered and re-imagined, Alec at his most  _ alive _ , and he wants that face before him.

He can’t die. He can’t be dead. He won’t allow it.

The first few days are the hardest. He wakes up every ninety minutes or so, sweat-soaked and naked, seeing humans in the shadows, but they’re never the one he wants. Each time he wakes up with bone-deep certainty that Alec has died and the damp on his cheeks tastes good, saltier than he remembers. The soft cacophony outside his window reminds him he’s at the end of the world, in paradise, with one foot out of hell, or maybe in it, he’s not sure.

The gun sits comfortably in his palm and his mind stops spinning. He’s hyper aware of everything around him and wide-awake, he uses the crystalline armor to check the doors and windows.

—-

Alec stays away for two weeks, doing who knows what. Probably surveying the island, checking for himself whether James spoke true regarding the lack of air and water transportation. He should do the same; at least gain some familiarity. Right now, he's at a disadvantage should it come to a chase. He hasn’t ventured beyond a hundred yards in any direction. But the sun is hot and he hasn't had a proper vacation since he was a child, so he lazes in the shallows, swims the restlessness out of his legs, and fishes to keep them well-fed. They have enough canned food for a few months, but it'll stretch longer and taste better if he supplements with fresh food.

This isn't how he imagined retirement to go. More women, for one thing. If he's lucky, one that's permanent. More urban, better dining options than grilled fish and canned peas with tinned pear in sweet juice for dessert.

It's a bit like prison, if a beautiful one. 

Alec is worth it.

\--

"You want to talk."

"The thought had crossed my mind." Tinned fruit didn't taste so bad after awhile. He scrapes the bits with a knife and tips the container into his mouth.

"I want to get off this island."

"What's the rush; got a supervillain meeting to catch?"

Alec leans in. "Nice try. I'm not falling for it, James."

"Pity, I enjoy our banter. Jabbing at the wildlife isn't nearly as satisfying."

Alec bit his lip calculatingly. James is fine with the way things are, so he has the upper hand. Food, shelter, and purpose. That's all he's ever really needed.

He ignores the little voice that calls him a liar.

"You're after something and you think I'm going to drop my guard and tell you if it's just the two of us. That's why you haven't brought me in."

Good guess, but not in the way Alec was thinking. It sounds good though, better than the amorphous tangle of motivations sitting in the back of his mind; he’ll adopt it.

"What I haven't figured out is what you'd want so badly."

"Is that you asking?"

Alec sharply draws back. James locks his muscles and accepts the distance. "No."

James can’t let him go far. “Are you going to tell me how you’re doing?”

There’s a curl of disdain in Alec’s affect and words. “You just can’t stop poking, can you? Mind your own business, James.”

“Minding got us into this mess.”

He didn’t mean to say that, it feels like admitting a weakness, that he cares, when really he just wants to be satisfied.

“Oh?” Alec is mocking him, his face giving James his full attention while his eyes say he’s doing anything but. His skin prickles and he slows his breathing before he says something he’ll regret. “What mess is that? I really doubt you invited me on holiday to get a play-by-play of our time apart.”

Yes. Tell me your crimes. Who had your back? Who did you fuck?

“The mess that started in Arkhangelsk. When you turned your back on us. What happened to ‘for England’?”

“England is your business, not mine. I was never in it for the Queen.”

“Really?” He doesn’t want to believe it. 

Alec isn’t lying. “Yep,” he obnoxiously pops the last letter like the oiled, platinum-haired Californian surfer they met in ’83. James had adopted how the man wore confidence in the sweltering heat and Alec took home all his annoying verbal tics. “So I don’t follow. You’ve always minded your own business. That coldness made you James Bond.”

Alec fades into the forest whistling a jaunty tune. James rubs his shirt, trying to erase the yawning hole.

\--

"Why did you let me live?"

"That's the one question you're not allowed to ask me." He says it pleasantly to take the sting out of the words.

Alec looks offended which is insulting. James is the wronged party. Alec obviously thinks James has actions to atone for and it’s galling he won’t elaborate. The rage and hurt churning in his gut try to rear their ugly heads and he breaks eye contact to fiddle with his switchblade.

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid."

"Then don't be stupid, Alec." He says patiently.

"I'm not your little pet, James. I won't come to heel just because you've gotten us stuck here."

In a flash, he has Alec pinned against cupboard, knife to his throat. Alec is defiant, but there's fear thrumming through him and James is so angry and disappointed, he can barely contain it.

It makes him sick to see Alec afraid.

"Did you want to die?" 

His mouth has a life of its own.

Alec's features lose their tightness and James knows Alec has seen through him and correctly identified James is battling his own fears. He hopes Alec won't use it as ammunition.

But to his surprise, Alec answers honestly:

"Yes."

"Why?"

"There was nothing left."

That stung. "I was there." 

"Lies, James. More lies. You were furious. I couldn't count on you."

"Oh, don't worry, Alec." He smirks. "I'm still  _ furious _ . But that's for later."

"Not if I've got anything to say about it. I'll find out what your game is and I'll win." 

James tsks. Alec obviously hasn't the  _ slightest _ clue if he thinks they're at odds.

Maybe he'll catch on one of these days.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr all the time lol. Come say hi! [Thatsuittho](https://thatsuittho.tumblr.com/)


End file.
